


The Princess Bride, or, Princes, Pirates, and Brigands, Oh My

by agentx13



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Princess Bride AU, sharon carter month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27917560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentx13/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: Steve is a mere farm boy deeply in love with the most beautiful girl in the country, Sharon, who deeply loves him in turn. But it wouldn't be a tale for the ages if their love was easy. For their happily-ever-after, they must overcome pirates, princes, poisoners, and even death itself.
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Sharon Carter Month





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Years ago, Khalidah asked for a Staron Princess Bride AU prompt for Sharon Carter Month. It took me a couple years, but I finally got off my butt and wrote one! Hope you enjoy it!

Once upon a time, in the beautiful kingdom of Florin, lived a beautiful young woman named Sharon. She was easily the most beautiful girl in her village, but as she grew and people came to see her for themselves, it was agreed that she was the most beautiful woman in the country.

With her lived three people and an assortment of animals. The first two people were her parents, farmers by trade but noble in their delusions. They were, however, determined to take advantage of their daughter’s beauty and benefit from it, and they raised her to act and sound as much like a lady as much as two country farmers who had only heard of cities could. What little money they had went to dance classes and art and embroidery lessons. Their daughter, they told visitors cheerfully, might not have a noble name, but she would breed as well as any high-class mare.

The third person was the farmhand, Steve. The farmhand was a thin, dirty creature, his blond hair almost brown with lack of washing. He had enough muscle to do farm work but otherwise looked as if a breeze might break his bones. Sharon’s parents, who had hired Steve to do the work they didn’t want to do, disdained him and taught Sharon to do the same. He was beneath her, her parents told her as they made her wash her hair multiple times each day and stand still as a statue so as not to wrinkle her dresses.

Her parents were especially cruel to the boy, calling him ugly and dirty and stupid, but Steve took it all in stride.

Sharon, often angered by her parents’ treatment of her, didn’t understand it at all. She and Steve were only eleven; he had no right to be so patient, no right to be so much more patient than she. “Don’t you just get _angry_ sometimes?” she demanded.

“I can’t afford to,” he told her. “My mother relies on me.” He looked at her, then, in a way that was both like and unlike the way so many others did. He thought her beautiful, she knew, but there was something else. “You never call me stupid. Why is that?”

“They won’t let me learn anything,” she admitted, following him as he worked. She was careful to avoid anything that might mess up her dress. “How can I call someone else stupid when I know I don’t know anything?”

“’The fool thinks he knows all, but the wise man knows he knows nothing,’” Steve intoned.

“What?”

“It’s a saying.”

“I got _that,_ ” she said. “I don’t know what it means.”

“That you’re wise.”

“A wise _man._ ”

“Well.” Steve paused, looking uncertain. “I guess a man came up with it and thought it sounded good.”

“Men tend to,” Sharon said, though she’d never thought about such things before. But it sounded good. “Tell me about your mother. You never talk about your parents.”

“As you wish. My father is dead. My mother is ill. And I work to support her.”

“Do you miss her when you’re here?”

“Of course.”

“She must be very unlike my mother.”

Steve looked at her for a moment. “She is.”

“I’d like to meet her.”

“As you wish.”

The phrase always struck her as odd, but it also meant she knew she’d get what she wanted.

But that was only true with Steve. Her parents forbade her from going anywhere outside of the farm – brigands and pirates would be thrilled to snatch a lady such as herself, they claimed – and she instead smuggled parts of her meals to Steve to give to his mother. After all, if Steve had to work to support her, and was willing to put up with her parents to do it, then she suspected every little bit helped. Steve, in turn, began smuggling her books from school and talking over the lessons with her as she followed him around the farm, even teaching her how to do some of the things he did.

His mother died when they were twelve. He didn’t talk about it with anyone but her, and even then, she had to demand it of him. And then always, after “As you wish,” he would oblige. She stopped demanding, though, because it seemed to make him sad, and he was the closest thing she had to a friend, and she didn’t want him to be sad.

At thirteen she realized there might be more to it than that. He never said “As you wish” with anyone else. And she never missed anyone else the way she missed him when he went to an empty house each night.

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“Say what?”

“’As you wish.’”

Steve stopped moving hay in the stables and looked at her, blue eyes searching hers. “What if,” he said cautiously, “it means I love you?”

Sharon stood there, not wrinkling her dress and thinking it over. None of the men her parents made her talk to were like Steve. She wasn’t sure there was anyone like Steve. She wasn’t sure she wanted there to be. She met his eye. “As you wish.”

The two of them stared at one another. Steve’s face broke out in a beaming, glorious smile. Sharon’s own face began to mirror his. She felt giddy and overwhelmed. She did the one thing she could think to do: She ran back to the house, where she promptly got lectured for running in her dress and messing up her hair. But the lecture was a muted drone. It couldn’t pierce her thoughts, or perhaps it couldn’t pierce her feelings, the ones she couldn’t yet name. The feelings that seemed to burst from her skin when she saw Steve again and smiled in a way that made her parents look at each other in concern. She didn’t mind her parents’ looks, barely even noticed them. She was in love, and she was invincible.

At fourteen, she realized she was _not_ invincible. Her mother found the books Steve smuggled in to her underneath a pile of old shoes in her closet, and her father accused Steve of stealing and grandly announced he had no choice but to fire the farm boy. Sharon, with all the fiery conviction of youth, knew that she would never forgive her parents for this. She chased after Steve as he walked down the drive.

“Where will you go?”

“To make my fortune, I suppose.” Steve stopped and turned. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me,” he repeated.

She looked toward the gate at the end of the long drive. “To town?” She’d heard about town from her parents. It wasn’t like the farm. So many people, so much noise, so many buildings close together. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like, nor could she didn’t understand how Steve could live there.

“No, not to town,” he said patiently. “I can’t make a living enough to support you there.”

“’A living enough to support me,’” she repeated. “What does that mean?”

“You know what it means. You deserve more than to live on a farm with a farmhand.”

“I’d be living on a farm with _you._ ” After a moment, she amended, “Or in town with you.”

He shook his head. “I know how hard it is to support two people. I won’t be able to do that in town. I have to go farther. Out into the world.”

The world, as her parents described it, was a very scary place. She looked again to the gate at the end of the drive; the road looked more nefarious than usual. Brigands and pirates, she thought. “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes._ ” He drew closer and took her hands in his. “Come with me,” he said again, his tone low.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He didn’t move. Nor did she. It seemed the stood that way, frozen, for an eternity.

“As you wish.” He lifted her hands to his lips and gave her knuckles an awkward kiss, his eyes on hers. And then he dropped her hands, and his eyes fell away, and he turned and strode down the drive, through the gate, and out into the world. She watched the entire time, but he never turned back. She didn’t realize she was still standing there crying, with him long gone, until her mother came out to lecture her about ruining her looks.

After that, Sharon had less respect for her parents. She also had no friends. It was lonely and painful.

But she had a plan.

Her parents would never deem to allow her to go to school, but they couldn’t turn down gifts from her suitors. They also couldn’t bear to turn down her suitors. She would be able to marry at eighteen, and her parents were trying to cultivate the best match possible. Sharon used it to her advantage, talking about the world and literature and science and astronomy and all the things she’d studied with Steve – without mentioning Steve, of course. Her parents would be upset if that were to happen, but they seemed pleased enough that Sharon talked to her suitors with smiles and questions about whatever minuscule goings-on were happening in their lives. In return, she received gifts of books and star maps and a globe that spun on its axis and tales upon tales of the outside world.

She studied, harder even than she had when Steve was nearby. It was all part of the plan.

Because she was going to find Steve. The new farmhand – her parents had learned their lesson and hired a withered old man – had reported that he’d joined the navy.

She was going to educate herself. She was resolved to do that – enjoyed it, really. And she was going to learn about the world and find out its dangers and how to overcome them, and she was going to find Steve, find a job (no matter how many people came to call, Sharon couldn’t determine what job she’d be good at, no matter how much she questioned them), and marry him, and they would live happily ever after. The world, she was learning, was not as frightening as she’d been led to believe; it was entirely possible to have a happily ever after somewhere other than her farm. That were her plan. It had its flaws, she supposed, but she wasn’t educated enough to see them. All she had to do was not give up.

Her suitors began praising her – both at home and away – for being charming, and for being genuinely interested in people, no matter how dull they were. Paired with her beauty, it made her even more irresistible.

Sharon was educated enough now to realize she couldn’t be _more_ irresistible. She was either irresistible, or she wasn’t. But she was also educated enough that she knew better than to say that.

Despite her parents best efforts, Sharon rebuffed all the proposals that came her way. She couldn’t marry until she was eighteen, but she could become engaged before then. Her first proposal came at fifteen. More followed at sixteen. By now, she was tall and graceful and willowy, and, as some said, “even more irresistible.”

At seventeen, the news came. Dread Pirate Roberts had attacked Steve’s naval ship.

Sharon knew about Dread Pirate Roberts, had known about him for most of her life. He was part of the “brigands and pirates” her parents always talk about. He never left any survivors.

Which meant that Steve was dead, and Sharon would soon be dead, too.

She took to her bed, waiting for the hollow within her to take her life as it had her heart. A day passed with little food, water, or sleep. Then another. Then several more.

She was dead, but undying. The world was worse than her parents had warned her it was.

Eventually, she had to get out of bed to double-check the wording of a poem Steve had taught her. While looking for the one poem, she found several others, all reminding her of Steve. 

Had he known her intention to follow him? Had he thought her a coward? Had he never doubted her loyalty just as she had never doubted his?

She ended up crying on her bedroom floor. Not the pretty, attractive crying her parents would have preferred, but a slow cry that built to a crescendo of bawling and heaving, her nose running and her dress becoming sodden with tears, all while she tried to cry quietly enough that her parents didn’t come to investigate. The very idea of Steve was offensive to them; they would never understand why the idea of him could never be offensive to her.

The next morning, she was sore from falling asleep on the floor and had a headache, but despite that, she felt better. She couldn’t have described how she felt better if her life had depended on it, but she did. She even felt well enough to leave her room.

She didn’t feel like living without Steve, and she couldn’t fall asleep unless she read some of the poetry they’d talked about together, but it wasn’t until her parents introduced her to yet another suitor that she felt her stomach – or perhaps what was left of her heart – plummet. It was then that she decided that no matter what else happened in her life, she would never love again. The thought of loving anyone after Steve was incomprehensible. Reprehensible. She couldn’t. Should she die an old maid, he would always be the only one she’d ever love.

* * *

Five years passed. In the fifth year, Prince Rumlow came to see her. He and his entourage rode their horses up to her parents’ door. A servant knocked; her father answered, and the prince strode in. “I heard you had the most beautiful daughter in all the land,” he greeted her father without once looking at him. His eyes fell on Sharon, still young, still beautiful, and with just a hint of sadness about her. The two of them looked at each other, each appraising the other, and the prince said, “Yes. She’ll do.” He looked to his servant. “Draw up the marriage papers.”

Sharon stood. She was taller than when Steve had known her, thinner in some ways and fuller in others. “Your Highness. You must understand.” He looked at her impatiently. “I can never love you.”

“Love in marriage?” he seemed confused by the very idea. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never marry a farm girl out of love.” He considered. “That’s a good consideration,” he noted. “I can’t marry a farm girl. We’ll have to make her a princess.” He snapped his fingers at the servant. “Get it done.” He appraised Sharon again. “You’ll come back with us to the Palace. Well. That’s a good day’s work.” He strode out, leaving the servant looking expectantly at Sharon.

“I won’t leave without my things,” she said firmly, even though she felt uncertain. Even her parents, who had schemed for something like this for so long, seemed flabbergasted.

“You’ll be given new clothes in the city.”

“Not clothes,” she said. “Books. They have sentimental value.”

That seemed to seal it. The servant signaled some of the other riders inside, and her books were promptly packed, and she was helped onto a horse.

“I hope you know how to ride,” the servant said apologetically. “The prince didn’t believe you’d be pretty enough to justify bringing a carriage.”

Sharon smiled at a joke she would never share with anyone but Steve. “It’s all right,” she said instead. “I believe I can manage.” She could ride, of course; Steve had taught her how when they were children. Still, it had been a long time, and she was glad when, hours later, the pace slowed.

They broke free of the woods and came to miles upon miles of fields. In the distance were stone walls. Tiny figures, smaller than ants, walked along the top. She could see rooftops above the walls; above that, stretching toward the sky, was a castle. She forced her jaw not to drop as she stared at it. It became even more incredible the closer she got. The noises, the yells and bubbling conversations, the colors of various clothes and signs and banners, the stenches… well. She’d lived on a farm, so she couldn’t very well complain about those…

“Never seen the capital before?” the servant asked with a grin.

“I’ve never even left the farm,” she said honestly, her eyes wide with wonder. “I’ve always wanted to see more, though.” She caught the eye of some children in a window and smiled in greeting. They smiled back, staring at her as if dumbstruck.

Now that she thought of it, everyone they passed stopped what they were doing and saying to stare at them. To stare at _her._

She schooled her face into a placid expression. “I hope there’s nothing on my face,” she teased, her voice betraying her with a tremor.

The servant turned to her in disbelief. “Miss- Your _Highness._ They’re looking at you like that because you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen. Surely you realize that.”

“I suppose I’d thought in a place this large, there would be many beautiful women.”

“There are,” the servant said with a nod. “Just not as beautiful as you.”

“Oh.” Sharon tried to hide her discomfort. She’d never been stared at like this. Never gawked at by so many people at once. But she didn’t want to be rude, so when she met someone’s eye, she smiled, and when she saw a magician performing tricks, she stared in open wonder; when he saw her watching, he froze and got pecked by his dove.

Her beauty, she reflected, could be something of a liability. Brains like Steve’s were infinitely better.

If the capital had threatened to overwhelm her, the palace very nearly did her in. With gilding and marble and classical portraits and velvet cushions and silk tassels everywhere, she felt very small and insignificant and… poor.

The feeling didn’t change when she was escorted to a bedroom that was larger than her entire house and set upon by an army of maids. A bath with fragrant oils was followed by an attack from thick and fluffy towels to dry her off. A tailor worked on her next, taking measurements and calling for the dress in the nearest size, demanding changes be made while they called the numbers. And then layers of clothing more expensive than anything her parents could have afforded. It occurred to her that she didn’t know where her parents were now, nor how far away they were, nor how to talk to them. She didn’t particularly mind, either, until she realized that she was now surrounded by people she didn’t know at all.

But it didn’t matter, did it. Nothing did anymore. Not really. A princess or a pauper, it wouldn’t bring her happiness.

And this, she realized as she studied herself in the mirror, wasn’t her.

The maids had wrangled her hair into gentle curls that cascaded from a tiny gold and diamond tiara. She wore a white cotton shift, and over that a light blue silk dress that dripped with tiny pearls. Her slippers were velvet and so thin as to be utterly useless. They, too, were covered in tiny pearls. On top of that, jewelry loaded with diamonds and precious stones was draped around her neck, set in her ears – they’d be pierced later, and Sharon pretended to know what that meant – on her fingers, and on her wrists.

She looked like a stranger.

Very well, then. She was only playing a role. It was a better-dressed one than the role she’d been playing for the past five years, but she could do it.

Supper was brought in, a light affair because Cook wasn’t sure what her preferences were; he trotted in after the food and nearly tripped when he saw her, stammering through his questions about her diet. She tried to calm him and answer his queries as best she could, and he seemed more assured when he left.

“You’ll have all the men here head over heels for you, your Highness, if you keep it up,” her maid said.

“I should hope not,” Sharon said. “It would be a bother not to be able to have a conversation with anyone here. I don’t actually know anyone. Care to join me for supper?”

Her maid seemed taken aback and declined, but she didn’t seem as huffy with Sharon after. At Sharon’s request, she even gave Sharon a tour, and Sharon was almost gleeful at the sight of the multitude of books in the library, and the news that there was a university nearby.

“Do you think they might let me attend?” she asked, trying to hide her excitement. “I’ve never been allowed to go to school before. Only home-school, but I would love the chance to sit in a classroom.”

The maid looked more alarmed than supportive. “Of course, your Highness,” she said, as if she didn’t know what else to say. “I’m sure they’d… allow it. Your Highness.”

She was called to join the prince after they returned to her room. He was waiting for her in a room where everything, walls, furniture, and carpet, seemed to be done in green. He took one look at her, blinked, looked some more, then took her hand and pulled her to the doors on the other side. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, sounding as if he meant it.

That was all the warning she got before the doors were thrown open, and he led her onto a balcony, her hand held high. “Today,” he said, his voice carrying to the crowd below. Sharon had never seen so many people in her life. “I bring to you Princess Sharon. My future wife, and your future queen!”

Cheers went up. Sharon’s first instinct was to shrink away, but she forced herself to lean forward and smile brightly, mimicking the prince as he waved to the crowd.

It was a role, she told herself. Only a role. He knew she couldn’t love him and had agreed.

Upon returning to the green room, the prince preened to himself. “They adore you,” he commended her. “We’ll get married next month. Make sure your manners are up to snuff and you’ve got the ceremony down.”

“Of course,” she agreed. Before she could ask any questions, though, he and his guards were gone, and only her maid remained. 

They returned to her room, where they found many more dresses had been hung up for Sharon’s use, all of them luxurious and fashionable and expensive, along with more jewels and tiaras. Her books had been set on a new bookcase against the wall. Sharon went straight to it, selected a small book of poetry, and held it in her hands as she walked over to look at the dresses. Nothing felt real except the small book that still sometimes – or so she thought – smelled of Steve.

“I should help you into your nightclothes, your Highness,” the maid said. 

“Thank you.” Sharon supposed she ought to get accustomed to other people undressing her and helping her dress. 

She ate dinner alone and tried to ignore the flutters of fear that whispered that she was alone, that she couldn’t do this, that she didn’t understand what was happening. That she had no friends, that she would fail.

To be fair, Sharon told herself calmly, she was alone, but she often was. She could learn to do this as she had learned to do other things, and she would come to understand what was happening because she was a person of understanding. Or at least, someone who sought to understand. And of course she had no friends yet – but she also had no enemies. And perhaps she _would_ fail. But she wouldn’t know that for some time yet. And failure did not always guarantee more failure. With mistakes came lessons; with lessons, knowledge; with knowledge, confidence; with confidence, success.

In short, she talked herself into a place of comfort. But when she fell asleep, she still hugged the small book of poetry to her chest.

* * *

The next several weeks taught her to appreciate her quiet life on the farm more than she’d ever thought possible. There were intense lessons on etiquette, history, diplomacy, literature, science, mathematics (ugh), dancing, fashion, and more. Her teachers all seemed pleased with what she knew of her subjects so far, as little as it was, and piled on more.

She got one break each day, after supper, and at first spent it in her room. Upon asking her maid, Barbara, if she could go into the city, however, and getting the idea approved by her future husband, after supper became the best part of her day. He’d even deemed that she was universally loved enough that she didn’t need guards to separate her from her future people.

All in all, she thought as she walked through the city and greeted people, asking sincere questions about their livelihoods and their business and family, she could be content with this way of living. Never happy, but content.

She’d just left the baker, who’d given her a ginger biscuit and promised to teach her how to bake one on her next trip, if she’d be interested, when a woman in a black cape and bright red hair drew beside her.

“You,” the woman said, in a voice that was both soft and strong at the same time, “must be the princess.”

“I’m sure there are others out there somewhere,” Sharon said pleasantly, not pointing out the tiara perched on her head.

“Would you like to see a circus?” the woman asked.

“A circus?” Sharon echoed, intrigued.

“A circus,” the woman echo-echoed, nodding.

“I’ve never seen a circus,” Sharon admitted.

“Then you must see this,” the woman said, leading her down the street. “It’s the most wonderful circus you’ve ever seen.”

“I’m sure.” She _had_ said she’d never seen one, hadn’t she? “If I may ask, what _is_ a circus?”

The woman, shorter than Sharon by almost a head, looked up at her. “The most exciting thing you’ve ever seen.” She gestured for Sharon to follow her down an alley.

That, Sharon thought, didn’t explain anything at all.

The woman looked behind Sharon. Upon turning, she saw two men. Sharon frowned. Something about this situation didn’t seem right, she thought.

One of the men reached out, and Sharon fell into darkness.

* * *

She woke on a boat and sat up to find the woman and two men talking. She glared at them as imperiously as she could. These must be some of those brigands her parents had warned her about. Of course, they were on a boat, so they might be pirates. Or, they might be both brigands _and_ pirates. “Did you just kidnap me?” Sharon demanded.

“Yes,” the woman said, unperturbed. “You didn’t make it difficult.”

“I’ve never been kidnapped before,” Sharon said defensively.

The woman shrugged. “Most people haven’t been. Because they don’t make it so easy.”

“Go easy on her,” one of the men said. “I hear she never left her farm before the prince found her.”

“Very true,” Sharon commended him. Though she didn’t consider herself manipulative, she favored him with a smile.

“Bucky,” the woman warned. She sighed. “I’m Natasha, your Highness. The lumbering oaf is Bucky. The other guy is Sam.”

“Hi,” Sam said.

“Hello,” Sharon greeted politely.

“We’re going,” the woman continued, “to kill you and leave your body on the shores of Guilder.”

“I don’t think Guilder would appreciate that,” Sharon mused.

“We don’t, either,” Natasha said with a smile. “And your husband-to-be certainly won’t. There will be a war. And we will profit.”

“Speaking of her husband-to-be,” Sam said, “is that him?” He pointed behind Natasha. Sharon did her best to look, but she was such an expert on boats that she couldn’t tell one from the other.

Natasha turned. “No. Likely a random boat. It’s too soon, anyway. They’ve probably just noticed that she’s missing. They won’t even have found all the clues that she’s been kidnapped to Guilder.”

“It looks like that ship is gaining,” Sam said.

“Inconceivable,” Natasha told him. “There’s no way. We’ve got the fastest ship in the sea. Besides, we’re in the Sea of Shrieking Eels. No one else would ever come through here without purpose. They’ll turn soon enough. You’ll see.”

“Well,” Sharon said, getting to her feet. “Starting a war doesn’t interest me. So if you’ll excuse me…”

With that, she jumped into the sea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Man in Black fights Sharon's kidnappers for unknown reasons. She avenges her lost love.

Sharon was not intelligent. She’d felt intelligent that morning, sure. Before she’d gotten kidnapped so easily. And she’d felt intelligent when she’d decided not to be used to start a war between countries.

But now that she was in the water and remembering that she didn’t know how to swim, she could admit to a certain lack of intelligence.

It didn’t help that her dress was heavy. How much of that was wet cotton and how much was jewels was anyone’s guess.

At least she could say she wasn’t some sort of idiot who released all her breath underwater in a scream. But someone was screaming, that was for sure. A _lot_ of someones. Shrieking. Natasha had some something about shrieking. Shrieking _eels._

Sharon had eaten eel at the castle. Little worm-like things from the sea, all soft-fleshed and salty to the tongue. They didn’t seem too deadly, really, and not just because she saw them when they were already dead and on a table in front of her, salted and seasoned. Once she figured out how to swim… Think, Sharon. All she had to do was learn how to swim before she ran out of breath. How hard could it be?

One of the shrieks was growing distinctly loudly. Fumbling with her arms, Sharon turned her head and saw something that was definitely worm-like, but also definitely not little and definitely not soft-fleshed. It was huge, with a bony head and a mouth full of teeth.

Sharon, forgetting her earlier thought about idiots screaming under water, screamed under water. 

Large hands grabbed her arms and pulled her up. She fell to the deck, spluttering and coughing and gasping for air.

“I trust you won’t be trying that again,” Natasha told her. From her tone, it didn’t sound like Sharon had even mildly inconvenienced them.

Sharon shivered. “I don’t mind dying,” she said, fighting to keep her teeth from chattering, “but I don’t want others to die because of me.”

Bucky wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “Here. This should help.” He turned to Natasha. “I’m not a fan of killing her, Nat. I only ever wanted to kill one person, you know that. And it isn’t her.”

Natasha shrugged. “One little murder and all of us are swimming in more money than we know what to do with.”

Sam, at the back of the boat, was watching something behind them. “I’m against killing her, too,” he called over his shoulder without turning. “I wouldn’t mind killing a bad guy, but she’s not a bad guy. Killing her makes _us_ the bad guys.”

Natasha grumbled. She grabbed some rope and approached Sharon. “So you don’t try to escape like that again.” She tied Sharon’s wrists together, then her feet. Sharon, still shaken and struggling to get her breath back, didn’t fight her. 

“That ship is still behind us,” Sam said. “And it’s closer.”

“Inconceivable,” Natasha snapped.

Bucky leaned over the side of the ship. “The one with the black sails?”

Sam spared him an incredulous glanced. “It’s the only one around, man. Of course it’s the one with black sails.”

Bucky nodded sagely and looked at Natasha. “It’s closer.”

“Inconceivable,” Natasha snapped again. Nonetheless, she took the time to look herself. “Let’s put on more speed,” she told the others.

“Going faster would be inconceivable,” Sam told her.

“Just do it!”

* * *

The ship was still closer when they reached what Natasha called the Cliffs of Insanity.

“They don’t look insane to me,” Sharon noted.

“Just wait,” Natasha replied. “If you fall from them, you’ll go insane before you ever hit the bottom. I’ll go first. Then Bucky and the princess. Then Sam.”

“Why am I last?” Sam demanded.

Natasha cast an uneasy glance behind them at the approaching ship, now close enough to identify individual features if Sharon knew how. “Just do it.” She skittered up a rope that had been left hanging for just that purpose.

Once she was up, Sharon yelped as Bucky threw her over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Bucky said. He began to climb the rope. “Please don’t struggle too much, though. If you do, we’ll both fall to our deaths.”

“I wouldn’t want to die before I’m murdered,” Sharon said.

He didn’t seem to notice her sarcasm. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

The higher he climbed, though, the less inclined Sharon was to struggle. She’d never been so high up with nothing underneath her but a shoulder. And even then, the shoulder wasn’t under _all_ off her.

“Kidnapping isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be,” she muttered.

“It’s not really convenient for anyone,” Bucky agreed.

They reached the top, and Bucky set her gently on the exposed root of the large oak tree nearby. She wanted to wonder how the root became so flat, like a seat, but she was more than a little distracted by the large knife in Natasha’s hands. Though the knife wasn’t pointed at Sharon, she supposed it could be, and easily.

“We’ll cut the rope after Sam gets up,” Natasha said. “And then whoever is in that boat can’t follow us.”

“I thought he _wasn’t_ following us.”

Natasha grumbled.

“You said it was ‘inconceivable.’”

With the look Natasha gave Bucky, the knife appeared even more dangerous.

Sam clambered over the edge of the cliff. “He’s right behind me.”

“Who?”

“The guy who’s following us. He’s wearing all black. Like the ship’s sails. And he’s climbing the rope behind me.”

“Inconceivable,” Natasha murmured. She peered over the edge of the cliff.

Sharon studied the knots at her ankles. She wasn’t over the sea anymore. Perhaps she could run for safety? She looked at the brigands and weighed her chances.

“Are you sure you know what that word means?” Sam asked Natasha.

“How is it inconceivable that the guy’s wearing all black?” Bucky asked no one in particular.

Natasha dropped to her knees. “We were going to do this anyway. Might as well be now.” She cut through the rope.

Sharon’s heart sank. She didn’t know why the man was chasing them, but she didn’t think anyone deserved to fall into the sea. Particularly not on the Cliffs of Insanity.

She tried to scoot closer. Maybe if she could kick Natasha… She gasped as she fell off the root.

Sam glanced at her. “You all right? Here.” He came over to help her up again.

“It seems cruel to kill him,” Sharon tried. “You don’t even know who he is!”

“We know enough,” Natasha said.

“His fashion sense is atrocious,” Bucky rejoined. He looked at Sam, who was wearing all black.

Sam shot Bucky a betrayed look. “Dude. Can we not do this in front of her?” He waved a hand toward Sharon.

She recognized a opening when she saw one. Or so she thought. “I think it’s a lovely outfit.”

Sam preened at Bucky.

“I’m just a little worried,” she continued doubtfully. She’d found, through her time in the city, that people were perfectly happy to believe her stupid given half the chance. She widened her eyes stupidly and gave it her all. “What if that nice man wants to pay you for another job?”

Sam and Bucky looked at each other in a different way.

“Whoops,” Natasha said. The rope disappeared over the edge of the cliff. She and Bucky immediately hurried to look over.

“Nope. He’s still there,” Bucky said. “Now he’s climbing the cliffside itself. Moving fast, too.” He couldn’t entirely hide the admiration in his voice.

Natasha jumped to her feet, her back ram-rod straight. “Inconceivable.”

“You definitely don’t know what that word means,” Sam said.

Natasha pointed at him. “Sam. You stay here. Fight him when he gets here. Make sure he doesn’t follow us. Bucky, grab the princess. Let’s go.”

Bucky hoisted Sharon over his shoulder again, and they were off, leaving Sam behind. Sharon’s neck ached as she tried to watch the scene. Part of her hoped that their pursuer was coming to rescue her, but she hadn’t had that sort of good fortune lately.

* * *

Sam leaned over the cliff edge. He’d been waiting for forever, and he didn’t want to wait another forever. “Hey,” he called. “I’m going to throw you a rope.”

“Why would I trust a rope you throw?” the man countered. He was close enough now for his voice to carry.

“Because I want to fight you, and I can’t do that if you’re dead.”

The man took a second to respond. “Fair enough.”

Sam tossed over a new piece of rope and helped pull the man up.

Upon reaching solid ground, the man drew his sword.

Sam held up a hand. “Not yet. You should rest first.”

“Really?”

“I’m very good at what I do,” Sam said. There was no boasting to it, only truth. “I’d hate to kill you without giving you a fair chance.”

The man considered and sheathed his sword. “Very kind of you. Thank you.”

Sam took a second to study the man. Dressed all in black, including a mask that hid everything but the lower part of the man’s face, there was no way to identify him. Certainly not one of the Prince’s men, though, Sam reasoned. Natasha was right. There wasn’t a chance one of the Prince’s men could have pursued them so quickly. “What is it you want, exactly?”

“Not you,” the man said. “If you’re willing to let me go on my way without a fight…”

Sam smiled. “Nope. Now me? I want revenge.”

“Not on me, I hope.”

“How many fingers do you have?”

The man held up his hands. “The usual number, I should think.”

Sam looked in particular at the right hand and shook his head. “I’m looking for a man with six fingers on his right hand. He killed my father. I’ve dedicated my life to killing him.”

“Seems a good goal until it happens.”

“Meaning?”

“What will you do after you kill him?”

“Have peace, I suppose.”

“What if you don’t kill him?” the man pressed. “What if you fall to me?”

Sam laughed. “Good one.”

“I’ve always been known for my sense of humor.” The man drew his sword in his left hand, and Sam drew his likewise. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

The two swords clashed, clashed, and clashed again. They went up and down the rocks, parried and lunged. It was soon evident they were equally matched.

This wouldn’t do, Sam thought. “I have a secret.”

“Oh? Has our relationship come so far already?”

“I’m not left-handed.” So saying, Sam switched his sword hand and entered into the fight with renewed vigor.

The man matched him. “I have a secret, too.”

“Our relationship is coming along nicely.”

“I’m not left-handed, either.” The man switched hands as well, and the fight was on again. This time, however, the man pressed his every advantage. Sam had to admit he was impressed. He was also faintly concerned. He hadn’t considered that he might lose.

“My best in your quest for revenge,” the man said. He brought his hilt down on Sam’s head, and Sam fell.

* * *

Bucky stood as the Man in Black came along the path in front of him. “I have to try to stop you,” Bucky said, sounding almost apologetic.

“It’s been one of those days,” said the Man in Black.

“You bested Sam.”

“I did.”

“Sam’s the best swordsman in the world.”

“Maybe he’s having one of those days, too.”

Bucky lifted his fists; the Man in Black followed suit. “I’m really sorry about this,” Bucky said.

“Me, too,” said the Man in Black. “I’m not even sure why we’re fighting.”

“I can’t let you by.”

“Can’t you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t.” Bucky shrugged. “I don’t get paid for not listening to orders.”

“Ah. That tends to be the way with mercenaries, I suppose.”

“Yes.”

“Sam, too? And your leader?”

Bucky nodded. “So let’s fight and get this over with.”

This fight was shorter than the one before, but no less brutal. Bucky was the one with the superior strength, but the Man in Black had the superior brains.

Bucky was really starting to dislike this job.

* * *

Sharon sat on the grass, her feet tucked underneath her, her wrists bound before her, and a blindfold over her eyes. She’d heard Natasha setting something up, but Natasha hadn’t answered her questions other than to warn her to shut up or die.

“I’m going to die anyway,” Sharon had pointed out.

“But how much pain you’re in at the time is up to you.”

Sharon had to admit Natasha had a point with that one.

After a long stretch of silence that seemed impossibly long, Natasha said, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I can see that. Did you set up this picnic for me, by any chance?” There was something familiar about his voice, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She worried her lip as she thought.

“Something like that. You’ve beaten my most skilled fighter and my strongest fighter. So now we’re going to see if you can beat my smartest fighter. Me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’m offering you the chance to poison one of these cups. I will figure out which is poisoned. I will drink from the non-poisoned cup. You will drink from the poisoned cup. I will then get paid for murdering the princess, and you will be left to rot.”

“Inconceivable,” Sharon murmured, mostly to irritate Natasha.

“Very well,” the man said after a moment. “Turn a moment?”

There was a sound, as if Natasha shifted. At a word from the man, Natasha turned back.

Several minutes passed. Sharon squirmed; her legs were going numb.

“You poisoned them both,” Natasha said slowly, sounding pleased. “Therefore there is no unpoisoned wine for me to drink.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a cop-out,” the man said.

“By no means. I’m curious to see which of us handles their poison better. Cheers.” There was a faint clink, several seconds of silence, then a cough and a faint thump of something falling to the ground.

Sharon was hoisted once more, this time set on her feet. She staggered, falling against someone taller and more muscular than Natasha. Hands steadied her, and her blindfold was removed. He was taller than she was, though not by much, with all of his features covered save for his eyes beneath his mask and the lower half of his face. There was something familiar about his lips.

He still held her upright; her legs were just starting to tingle as the blood flowed again, and she didn’t fight him. “Another brigand, I take it?”

“Pirate, actually.” He bent to undo the ropes at her ankles, his air oddly respectful. His air was less so as he undid the ropes at her wrists. “Come on. Your husband-to-be is doubtless in pursuit.”

“Is it ransom you want?” He didn’t answer, only tugging her along into a run. She stumbled, and he helped steady her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw why – a contingent of soldiers was in the distance, visible mostly from the glare on their armor. “You’re not trying to start a war with Guilder, too, are you?”

“I’d focus on running, if I were you,” he said. Instead of a warning, it sounded more like a lecture. Not sure what else to do, she ran. She ran until her feet ached and her sides hurt and her breath came in spurting gasps.

At length, he relented, letting go of her on a hilltop and turning in search of pursuit. She dropped where she was, fighting for air.

“You can have my dresses if you let me go.” She tried to sound wheedling; she sounded wheezing.

“They’d be too small on me, I’m sure.”

“They have jewels in them.”

“I don’t need jewels. I’m a very good pirate.”

“What do you want, then?”

He gave her an appraising look. “Nothing you can give me, I’m sure. I don’t put much stock in women. A man can only take so many betrayals.”

“A woman betrayed you?”

“A woman did, yes.”

“And you hold me responsible.”

“You look too much like her for me not to.”

Sharon watched him; he didn’t look away. “Something Prince Rumlow can give you, then. He’s already paid much for my keep; I suppose he wouldn’t mind paying more for my return. Everything else would be a waste of money anyway.”

“That’s an odd way to talk about your one true love.”

Sharon let out a ragged laugh, moaning as her sides admonished her. She pressed her palms into the aches, trying to find relief. “He is not my one true love. That person died. Killed by the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

“Huh.”

Sharon turned to him. With his mask, she couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were intent on her. “You said you’re a pirate. Perhaps you know him.”

“In fact, I am him.”

She stared at him. “You- you killed Steve.”

“Not an uncommon name. You’ll have to narrow it down.” The man paused. “Then again, I don’t get everyone’s name. It’s possible I didn’t notice him at all.”

Anger and pain that Sharon thought she’d stashed away years before rose up within her like bile.

The man moved away, looking in the direction of the pursuit. “Steve… Steve… Prince Steve by any chance?”

“No. He was poor. He was trying to make his fortune.”

“Because you wouldn’t marry him when he was poor.”

Sharon remembered that day in her drive, when Steve had asked her to go with him and she, afraid, had refused. “I wish I had.”

He moved closer and leaned over her. With his height and wide shoulders, he nearly loomed. “Why didn’t you? Did you realize the prince was waiting for you in the wings?”

Sharon shook her head. Her anger rendered her speechless. She wanted to hit him, desperately wanted to hit him.

“You should be grateful, you know. I seem to recall someone. Poor, from the looks of him. Skinny. Weak. About five years ago.”

Despite herself, Sharon lifted her head.

His eyes were still on her. “He didn’t bribe me not to kill him. He didn’t beg for his life. As I recall, he just said, ‘Please, I must live. There is a girl, most beautiful, most faithful, and to kill me is to condemn her. I must return to her.’ That can’t have been your Steve, though, he described someone faithful, made a point of it, and here you are, marrying someone else.”

Sharon shuddered. “You _did_ condemn me that day. Why didn’t you spare him?”

“Spare him? And have word get out that I’d let anyone live? No, no. That takes all the fun out of pirating. You let one person live, and then people think you’re weak, and you have to spend all your time work, work, working. Much better to just pirate away. It isn’t as if he mattered that much to you – look at you, marrying up.”

“It doesn’t matter what happens to me,” she said softly. “But I don’t want to be used as an excuse for other people to die.”

“Noble. I admit to being surprised. I hadn’t thought you had any honor.”

“Don’t. Don’t assume I can be the person I could have been. Steve is gone. You killed him. There’s no point to anything else.”

“Tragedies abound,” he said lightly, as if life were a joke.

He heard something and turned. In the distance, closer than before, horses in the princes’ livery were running closer, each one with a heavily-armed soldier astride.

“If I can’t have Steve back,” Sharon said. “I can at least avenge him, can’t I.”

He didn’t look at her. He looked as if he were calculating the distance between them and the horses and how much time they had. “Oh?”

Sharon had never killed anyone before, but she didn’t think it could be too difficult. “Yes. You’re going to die now.”

The man, startled, began to turn. Sharon didn’t wait to give him time to defend himself; it wasn’t as if she knew how to fight.

She pushed with all her might, and he toppled down the hill, head over heels over head over heels.

She watched, and instead of feeling the expected sense of victory and vengeance, just felt cold.

And then she heard it. From far away and farther away by the second.

“As you wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish.”

She stared down the hill. She must have imagined it. But she hadn’t. She couldn’t have.

Maybe she had.

But she had to know.

She looked around for a walking path, only to find there wasn’t one.

Well, she thought wryly, this was the day for stupid decisions.

She threw herself forward.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon is rescued by Prince Rumlow, but she isn't happy about it. Neither is Steve, though for different reasons. Natasha, Bucky, and Sam are in search of a new job opportunity.

Prince Rumlow was a famed hunter, and he had every intention of living up to expectations. His bride-to-be was missing. Normally, he wouldn’t have minded if a woman went missing, but this was _his_ bride-to-be. His property. And that made it his problem.

There were other things that made it his problem, too, but that was beside the point at the moment.

He tracked her kidnappers through the city, the country, the sea. He scaled the Cliffs of Insanity.

And there got his first surprise. “There was a sword fight here,” he said for his soldiers’ benefit. “Both incredibly skilled. The loser was left here. He came to, fled. He isn’t worthy of our pursuit any longer. The victor went… this way.”

Two swordsmen, he thought as he rode with Count Pierce. The two didn’t speak as they rode, but they must both be thinking of the trouble this caused.

And then, the second surprise. “Here was a battle of strength,” he explained. “The loser was knocked out, and the victor went… that way.”

Again, he wanted to discuss this with Count Pierce, but with soldiers surrounding them didn’t dare.

The third surprise was a picnic. Again the loser had left before they arrived. “Iocane powder,” Rumlow said, sniffing the wine goblets. “Both of them. Obviously, they’d both built up an immunity, but one had a greater immunity than the other. The victor took the princess this way.” This wasn’t good. In fact, this was bad. This meant an unknown player had his princess. “She’d better be alive,” he said grimly, not entirely for the soldiers’ benefit.

He was closing on them. He could feel it.

They hadn’t ridden much longer when he saw two figures at the top of a hill. One dressed entirely in black. The other unmistakably the princess. Rumlow urged his horse to run faster.

The princess pushed the unknown man. Rumlow glanced at the soldiers, wondering if they’d seen.

When he looked back, the princess was gone.

He came to a stop where he’d last seen them. The hill was too steep to take the horses, and the foliage was too thick beneath to see if either of them had survived.

Count Pierce reined in beside him. “Did my eyes deceive me,” he said, “or did they just enter the Fire Swamp?”

“From what I can tell, yes.” Rumlow looked up and down the ravine. “We’ll have to meet them outside the swamp.” He urged his horse forward, the soldiers falling in around him.

Honestly, Rumlow thought, he didn’t understand why the peasant princess was making it so hard to murder her and frame Guilder for it. It was very disobliging, and not at all supportive of his bride-to-be.

* * *

Sharon came to with Steve’s face wavering above hers. Only it wasn’t his. Or it was. “Ow.”

He looked relieved. “Can you move?”

She didn’t try to move. “Steve?”

“Yes?” He looked her over for injuries.

“You’re alive.”

“I noticed.”

She pushed herself up; he helped her. “You- you weren’t dead? At all?”

“Reports of my death may have been creative,” he admitted.

She stared at him. He still held her, keeping her upright. “You- for _five years?_ You were alive that _whole time?_ ”

“It wasn’t as if I could tell you,” he said defensively. “I was on a pirate ship!”

“I was dying on a farm.”

He looked at her dress, the one that despite its rough usage was clearly rich enough to buy a very small country.

“I kept waiting to die when I heard what happened to you, but I wouldn’t. I don’t know why. But I kept living.”

“And loving?” There was something gentle in his voice, along with a hint of accusation.

She shook her head. “Only you. It was always only you.”

“You’re marrying a prince, Sharon.”

“He knows I don’t love him. It’s just another role to play. I didn’t care what happened to me after you died.” She froze. “Wait. _You’re_ the one who left _me._ ”

“Ah,” Steve said, looking uncomfortable. “I thought I’d come back when I’d made my fortune and try again. It didn’t occur to me you’d marry a prince before I managed it.”

Sharon frowned at him. “You didn’t think to come back with less of a fortune?”

“Pirating takes time.”

Sharon rubbed her temples. “And all that time, you let me think you were dead.”

“Mail service isn’t great at the best of times. You think it’s better at sea?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Sharon groused.

“And you love me.” Despite phrasing it as a statement, there was a plaintive thread of hope there.

Sharon let her hands fall. He was watching her, nervous and still. “Yes, I do. And- and you love me?” She didn’t have the confidence to phrase it as a statement.

“You doubt it?”

“You’ve seen more of the world than I have,” she argued. “You’ve met more people.”

“And only one you. Don’t doubt that I love you, Sharon. Don’t doubt that I will always love you, and only you.”

“Even when you’re dead and can’t send a letter?”

“Especially when I’m dead and can’t send a letter.” He took her hands in his. “I would never let death separate us. It might take me longer to find you again, but it will never stop me from finding you.”

It all seemed like a dream. She leaned in, and the dream was somewhat ruined when Steve pressed his hand to her lips. “Iocane powder. I doubt you’ve built up the tolerance I have, which means… I need to rinse my mouth out.”

They looked around. The trees were thick enough to hide the sun. “Where are we?” Sharon asked, trying to remember the maps she’d studied. It had all seemed so distant and abstract, though. The reality didn’t compare to the paper illustrations.

“If I don’t miss my guess, the Fire Swamp.”

Sharon blinked. “Oh. So now we’re _really_ going to die.”

“We’ve thought that before and been wrong.” He took her hand and led her deeper within.

“Steve. No one can survive the Fire Swamp.”

“You’re just saying that because no one ever has.” He looked around as he led her cautiously along, heading deeper into the forest. “Admit it. It’s not so bad here.”

She stared at him. The trees stretched overhead, their trunks larger than a horse. There were foreign animal sounds. The air had a pungent hint of sulfur to it. The air was moist. Dim light reflected off a sticky substance on the trees. On the other hand, being here with Steve was better than being anywhere else without. “Not exactly room for a farm.”

“I suppose that would depend on where you put the farm,” Steve suggested. “There are some techniques that would allow for-” He cut himself off as they heard a series of pops, and they both jumped back as flame shot up from the ground nearby.

“I think I know how this place got its name,” Sharon mused.

They walked on, avoiding another flame from the pops that preceded it.

“Speaking of names,” Sharon continued as Steve chopped down vines to clear their path, “you said earlier that you’re the Dread Pirate Roberts. How did that happen? You’re Steve. And he’s been a pirate longer than we’ve been alive. Won’t he be upset you took his name?”

“I _am_ the Dread Pirate Roberts. It’s a funny story, actually. When I told you about saying please and describing you, and how important it was that I get back home, I meant it. Only Roberts listened. And he _did_ spare me. Turned out, he’d always wanted a valet, and he figured he’d give me the chance. He had me work all over the ship, and I learned everything anyone was willing to teach me. Fighting. Poisons. Other things. And I worked for him. Every night he’d tell me ‘Good night, Steve. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’ Only he didn’t. And we became friends. Then one night he said, ‘I’m getting ready to retire, and I want you to take over for me.’ Turns out, his real name was Bruce. Bruce Banner. And his predecessor’s name was Thaddeus Ross. Only no one was going to surrender to the Dread Pirate Thaddeus or the Dread Pirate Bruce or the Dread Pirate Steve. Last names like the Dread Pirate Ross or Dread Pirate Banner aren’t really effective, either. The power’s in the name. Here. This bit might go easier if I carry you.”

She had no complaints about letting him carry her over a fallen log bridge. She didn’t mind at all, actually, and she only moved to brush hanging vines away from his face. “Clever.”

“That’s what we thought, too. So we put in to shore, got a new crew, and Bruce stayed on a while as my first mate and called me Roberts. Once the crew believed I was truly Dread Pirate Roberts, he retired. Has a nice little island in the tropics. He’s very much into de-stressing. Said that was the best place to do it.” He set her down on solid ground, and she grinned at him before turning to lead the way into the forest.

“Should we move there, do you think? Or- I mean, if you w-” For the umpteenth time that day, she fell. She wasn’t sure how she’d fallen. There had been solid ground, then nothing. Only… no. This was sand. Quicksand? She did her best to remember her lessons. She’d read about this. Oh, dear. Not much to be done about that. No inhaling, just like with water. But unlike water, she couldn’t thrash about – that would just make her sink faster.

A hand grabbed hers, and she clung to it as it pulled her up. As soon as the air hit her, she gasped for breath, coughing at the fine sand that entered her lungs alongside the air.

Steve was in much the same state. “At least,” he said with another cough, “we know what the lightning sand looks like now.”

She laughed, wiping away her tears. His fingers replaced hers, and they were warmer and gentler. She stopped crying and looked at him. “Do you want to live with me?” she asked softly.

“Forever.”

“Even if it’s here?”

“It could be in the deepest pits of hell or on the highest mountaintop.”

He was close; she could feel his breath on her lips. She shoved him upward. “We need to get you clean water to rinse out your mouth.”

He laughed and pulled her to her feet.

She shook the sand from her clothes. “So that’s… flame spurts, lightning sand… That leaves the ROUS. ROUSes?”

“Rodents of Unusual Size?” He glanced over her shoulder. “With everything here that could kill them, I highly doubt they exi-”

He was promptly tackled by an ROUS. 

“Stop tempting fate like that!” Sharon snapped, looking around for a weapon.

He wrestled with the ROUS. “As you wish.” He cried out as the ROUS bit his arm.

Sharon was tempted to jump on the creature’s back and beat it into submission, but she didn’t know how to beat anything, and jumping hadn’t been working out for her lately. Casting about, she found a large tree limb, almost a branch, and used that instead, whacking the creature with all her might until Steve managed to reach his sword.

With the creature dead on the ground, Steve panted. “On the other hand, I hear the tropics are very nice.”

She carefully pulled up his sleeve. “We need clean water for this.”

“We won’t find any here.” Steve’s voice was grim.

Sharon swallowed. They had no idea how much longer the Fire Swamp went on, nor how many other enemies they would run into before they could escape. “Let’s get a move on then.”

With his injured arm, he needed help just as much as she did. She only started to worry, though, when he seemed to lean on her for support without realizing it. “I was going to find you,” she said, hoping to distract him.

“When I was dead? How ambitious of you.”

“Before that. I didn’t leave with you because I was afraid of the world. I was terrified back then.”

“Brigands and pirates,” he said dourly.

“I never cared that you were poor. I only cared that you were out there somewhere, and I wasn’t with you. So I learned everything I could. My parents didn’t let me leave the farm. They never actually gave their permission when Prince Rumlow came. He looked at me and said ‘You’ll do,’ and his guards packed away my books and that was that. He only made me a princess because it would have been beneath him to marry a pauper.”

“And you went along with it.” His eyes searched her face.

“Nothing mattered anymore. I told him I could never love him, but he didn’t care.”

Steve was silent long enough for Sharon to start worrying again. “You mentioned books.”

“The ones you smuggled to me when we were children.”

“I thought your father got rid of them all.”

“My beauty distracts from my stubbornness.”

His laughter was drowned out by the sounds of horses’ hooves. They’d reached the end of the Fire Swamp, and straight into a circle of Prince Rumlow, Count Pierce, and at least twenty heavily-armed soldiers. Steve immediately stepped in front of Sharon and raised his sword, all signs of weakness gone.

“Surrender,” Rumlow greeted him.

“I accept your surrender,” Steve said, his tone light. But Sharon knew that he was assessing their situation.

“Funny.”

“Serious.”

“You will surrender.” Rumlow’s voice rose in offense at Steve’s words.

Sharon heard the rustle of leaves behind them. An archer stepping out from behind a tree. Another archer nearby. They were surrounded. _Steve_ was surrounded. And injured. And tired. And ill.

“Death first,” Steve said, his voice calm.

“Promise not to hurt him!” Sharon shouted quickly, desperate to protect him.

“What?” Rumlow demanded.

“What?” Steve echoed, turning his face to look at her.

“He’s a sailor. A lowly sailor. Take him to his ship, and I’ll go back with you,” Sharon said. “I’ll smile and wave and do whatever you like, just so long as you don’t hurt him.”

“Sharon…”

Rumlow watched them both. “I swear it shall be done.”

She lowers her voice. She doesn’t want Rumlow to know how much she cares about Steve, to know how valuable and dear Steve is to her. “I thought you dead once, Steve. I can survive if I know you’re out there somewhere. I can’t survive if I can’t believe that. _Please._ ”

Steve stared at her, at a loss for words as Prince Rumlow lifted her onto his horse, and Sharon craned to watch him as long as possible. She had no idea when she would see him again. Probably never. But to know he was out there somewhere would have to be comfort enough.

* * *

Steve knew what was coming. When he was surrounded by Count Pierce and the soldiers, he shrugged. “She really is sweet, but she doesn’t know enough about the world.”

“Quite,” Pierce said.

Steve’s eyes fell on Pierce’s gloved hands. There was something odd about them. Ah, he thought as he figured it out. “You’ve got six fingers on your right hand,” he noted. “I know someone who’s been looking for you.”

Pierce struck him in the head, and everything went dark.

* * *

He woke in what appeared to be a dungeon. Tools of torture surrounded him. He was shackled to a table, and his wound was clean. He knew why he was being taken care of – it was no fun torturing someone who was too feverish to suffer properly.

They should have stayed in the Fire Swamp.

* * *

Sharon’s nightmares were getting worse. She knew that Steve was safe and sound out there somewhere, so she ought to be happy. But she couldn’t stop thinking about him, and her nightmares were unforgiving and unrelenting.

Unable to bear it any longer, she found Prince Rumlow and Count Pierce in the prince’s study. “I’m afraid I’ve deceived you.”

“Oh? I didn’t think deception was in your repertoire.”

“It’s new.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I can’t marry you. I’m sorry. I can’t. I love Steve. I always have. I always will. I can’t love you. I can’t marry you. I can’t live a lie. I’m sorry.”

Rumlow put down his quill. “I see.” His voice was eerily calm. “Are you sure he’ll want you back?” he asked after a moment. “You abandoned him in the Fire Swamp.”

“He’ll forgive me.” She knew he would, just as she’d forgiven him for being temporarily dead. “I can’t live without him, Rumlow. I will die without him. This time I’ll make sure of it.”

“That seems dramatic.” Rumlow stood and walked absently around his study. “Tell you what. You write to him. Four letters. I’ll give them to four of my fastest ships. We still have a few days before the wedding, and his ship shouldn’t be too far away, I’m sure. If he accepts you, I will be the first to wish you joy. If not…” He slowed to a stop in front of her and gently took her hands. “I hope you’ll accept me as an alternative to death.”

Sharon considered. The only thing that decided her was the realization that she knew very little about killing herself. She gave a slow nod of agreement. Only the realization that time was of the essence put color in her cheeks again, and she hurried away to write her letters.

With her gone, Rumlow ran his hands over his face. “She’s pretty, sure, and popular, but having that man around complicates things.”

“I’m putting him on the machine tonight,” Pierce said cheerfully. “If you’d like to stop by.”

“Pierce, as much as I would _love_ to watch you work, I can’t possibly. I’ve got my wedding to plan, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I suppose the upside of her being so popular means all I have to do for the people to demand war is strangle her on our wedding night and claim Guilder did it.”

“Or after your wedding night,” Pierce said knowingly.

Rumlow shrugged. “We’ll see. The timing is so important, you know.”

“I do.” Pierce straightened. “I’ll go visit our guest. His strength is back. I’m quite looking forward to it. You, your Highness, should get some rest. Without your health, you don’t have anything.” With a parting smile, he left to the Pit of Despair.

* * *

In the thieves’ forest, Natasha rolled over and vomited.

“Gross,” Sam said. “Did you even look where you doing that before you did it?”

“He won?” Her voice was a croak. 

Sam nodded and helped her drink some mead. “That he did. Mostly.”

“Mostly.”

“The princess is back at the castle. Marriage is scheduled for a tomorrow.”

“Where’s the Man in Black?”

Sam shrugged as Bucky came back with the makings of a stew. “Palace guards are clearing the whole thieves’ forest out,” he reported. He saw Natasha was awake. “You’ve alive. That’s good.”

She spat on the floor. “He can handle more poison than I can.”

“Not for lack of trying, apparently.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgment. After a moment of getting her bearings, she said, “You know we’re not getting paid, right?”

“Figured.”

Natasha leaned against the wall. “Bet that Man in Black knows how we could make some money. I wasn’t too fond of killing the princess, either.”

“Then why take the job?”

Natasha shrugged. “We needed the money.”

“We never need money _that_ badly,” Sam argued.

“Now you tell me.” She thumped her fingers against the cot. “Let’s find him. Get him to lead us or join us. I’m not too picky which.”

* * *

It was less than a day before the wedding, and Sharon was getting anxious. She knew there was no way Steve wouldn’t try to find her once her letters reached him, but despite checking in with Rumlow each day, it seemed his ships never found Steve’s.

She wasn’t actually sure what the name of Steve’s ship was, but Rumlow’s men must have found out when they’d taken Steve to his ship. So she told herself not to worry about that.

But she _was_ starting to worry.

And after getting kidnapped and nearly murdered, she figured it would be smart to be more suspicious of people in general. Starting with her husband-to-be.

“Barbara,” she asked her maid. “Do you know how often the trash in the prince’s study is emptied?” After all, it was the most convenient place for Rumlow to throw away her letters.

“You mean your letters, your Highness?”

Sharon froze.

So did Barbara.

“So they _were_ thrown away.” The servants must have talked about it. She’d been in the palace long enough to know they did such things.

“I thought they were quite sweet,” Barbara admitted. “But I don’t think the prince appreciated them.”

“He won’t appreciate our next conversation, either.” Barely taking time to put on her shoes, she strode toward Rumlow’s study with all the menace she could muster.

The prince was alone with his Chief of Security. Without waiting until the two of the were alone entirely, Sharon announced, “You are a liar, Prince Rumlow.”

“About, my dear?”

“You never sent those letters.”

Rumlow got to his feet. He moved nearly as quickly as his Chief of Security, who hastened out of the room rather than remain in an awkward situation.

“I don’t know what you mean, my dear.”

“You never sent those letters,” Sharon repeated. “And I will not marry you. Bad enough I can’t marry Steve. I cannot bear to marry such a repugnant, weak, coward instead.”

“You should watch what you say,” he warned.

“Ashamed of the truth? You will never be a fraction of the man he is. If you will not find him, I will do so mys-”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hall back to her room. “Shut up and learn your place, _princess,_ ” he snapped at her. He threw her into her room and locked the door behind her. By the time she caught her footing and tried to open it, there was no chance.

* * *

Rumlow ran into the Pit of Despair, nearly falling down the steps. Pierce spared him a calm, impassive look as he wrote some more notes on the science of pain.

Rumlow ignored him and went to Steve, where the man was immobilized and hooked up to the machine. “She loves you,” he gritted out. “Maybe you love her just as much. I don’t care. But she is mine. Not yours, and she loves _you._ She compares me to you and chooses _you._ And the quickest way to get you out of her mind is to get rid of you altogether.”

Then, before anyone could react, Rumlow threw the machine’s lever to its highest setting. He knew, after a fashion, that the machine stole life from its subjects. He didn’t particularly care about the science behind it. All he cared about was that Steve had already lived a bit, had some life stolen in past torture sessions, and likely didn’t have much left. Certainly not fifty years.

He watched as Steve screamed and thrashed on the table, convulsing in agony. Instead of feeling a sense of victory as Steve collapsed dead on the table, he felt coldness.

But victory would come. He was getting married tomorrow. And his bride wouldn’t survive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fights, weddings, and rescues, oh my. Will true love conquer all? Or will death be harder to overcome than it has been previously?

The screams echoed throughout the castle grounds, the city, and the thieves’ forest. Everyone who heard it stopped and listened, unable to pinpoint why the scream unsettled them so much.

“That is the Man in Black,” Sam said knowingly.

“How do you know?” Natasha asked.

“Because that is the sound of despair, and the love of his life is marrying someone else tomorrow.” Sam shrugged. “Who else would it be? Come on.” Excusing himself, he tried to get through the crowd before the screaming stopped and they lost the ability to track them to their source.

They weren’t going fast enough. Natasha looked at Bucky and nodded.

“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Bucky yelled in his deepest, loudest, booming-est voice.

Right away, everyone fell away.

“Thank you,” he said before running after the others.

They tracked the echoing screams as far as some woods near the castle. The prince and count were walking away from them, and they stopped behind a tree to watch until the coast was clear.

“Maybe it _was_ the Man in Black,” Natasha admitted.

“Told you,” Sam said smugly.

Natasha rolled her eyes. Once the prince and count were out of sight, she set about tracking their trail in the opposite direction, her eyes intent on the nearly-invisible footsteps on the path. It led directly into the trunk of a large tree. “Must be a secret door.” The most obvious way to open the door was by pressing one of the knots or a combination of them. Fortunately, after pressing several, it turned out to only be one.

The three of them wandered into the depths of the dungeon.

“’Pit of Despair,’” Bucky read aloud from a nearby sign. “That’s kind of pretentious, isn’t it? Naming your dungeon like that?”

“Can you be pretentious if you’re royal?” Sam asked.

Natasha called to them, and they joined her beside Steve’s corpse.

“This isn’t great,” Sam acknowledged.

“It’s worse,” Natasha said. “We need him. Bucky, carry him. Sam, scrounge up what money you have. That man who was walking away from here, the count, he was the one who contracted us to kill the princess and start a war with Guilder.”

Bucky obligingly picked up the corpse. “If it’s all the same, I’d like for the princess not to die. Feels a shame not to help her after we failed to help the man who loves her. And, you know, trying to kill her in the first place.”

Natasha gave a grunt of agreement. “The reason I wanted to see the count again,” she said, mostly for Sam’s benefit, “was that I needed a better look at his right hand. I can’t be sure yet, but I think he had an extra finger.”

Sam, a spring back in his step, quickly surpassed both of them up the stairs. “Let’s go kill him. Now.”

Natasha shook her head. “The Man in Black bested us in everything. They’ll have too many guards at the palace, protecting both the princess and the count. We need the Man in Black. And for that, we need a miracle.”

* * *

Stark Industries was little more than a ramshackle hut where foul-smelling smoke rolled from the chimney and metal clanged from within.

Natasha knocked. It took more than a couple attempts for a small slot in the door to open.

“What!” The square section of face they could see was evidently the Stark of Stark Industries, and with his customer-service attitude, it was no surprise why Stark Industries didn’t have more customers.

“We need a miracle and hear you’re the person to come to,” Natasha explained.

“We’re closed. Besides, you don’t want me doing miracles. I might kill whoever the person is you want me to help.”

“Not a problem. He’s already dead.”

“Oh.” Stark’s eyes darted from side to side as he thought. “That’s okay then. Might as well take a look.”

Inside, Bucky slammed the man’s body with more force than he intended on the table. “Whoops.”

Natasha sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Sir. If you can help, we need this man alive. The love of his life is more than likely going to be murdered tomorrow, and we need his help to save her.” And kill some other people, but Natasha doubted that would be a great selling point with this guy.

“Sure you do, sure you do.” Stark lifted one of the man’s hands and dropped it on the man’s face. “Eh. I’ve seen worse. He’s only mostly dead, not fully dead.” He took a bellows and shoved it in the man’s mouth. “People tend to lie,” he explained. “Corpses, no matter how corpse-y they are, don’t. So. Let’s find out from _him_ why you want him back.” He set the bellows aside and bent down to the man’s level. “HELLO IN THERE. WHY DO YOU WANT TO COME BACK TO LIFE? WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO LIVE FOR?”

He slowly pressed down on the man’s chest, and a snargled breath emanated forth. “Truuueee loooove.”

“Hm,” Stark said. “That’s-”

A woman popped up from seemingly out of nowhere. “Don’t you dare lie!” She pointed at Stark. “Don’t you _dare._ You heard him. You heard them. You know they’re probably not lying.”

“Probably isn’t certainly.”

“Help them!” the woman insisted. “Or else!”

Stark looked from the man to the woman, back again, then at Natasha. “Do you at least have money?”

Natasha looked to Sam, then Bucky. “Funny story…”

Stark groaned.

“I heard you were fired by the prince. Is that true?”

Stark’s groan turned ominous.

Natasha leaned over and pointed at the Man in Black. “We’re going to help this guy steal the prince’s bride-to-be. And cause him more pain on top of that.”

Stark assessed the words and nodded, turning to get his tools. “You should have opened with that.”

* * *

On the castle wall, they gave him the miracle pill with the chocolate coating (to make it go down more easily) and waited.

“How long is it supposed to take before it kicks in?” Bucky asked. He was only somewhat nervous. There were sixty men on the only working gate; they’d expected thirty. This was going to be very, very tough. Even with a mostly-dead man helping them.

The man’s eyes popped open, saw them, and then he immediately began threatening them.

“Not long,” Sam told Bucky. “Apparently.”

“Shut up or we’re all done for,” Natasha told the Man in Black. “The princess is marrying Prince Rumlow in half an hour. There’s only one gate to get in. Sixty soldiers guarding it. And we need to get to Count Pierce to count his fingers.”

The Man in Black quieted. “No need on that.” He turned his eyes to Sam, but the rest of his head stayed still. “The count has six fingers on his right hand. I think he’s the one you’re looking for. Why can’t I move?”

“You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Sam said, somewhat apologetic. “It’ll come back to you.”

“You’re already moving a finger,” Bucky said, somewhat encouragingly.

“Great. Moving a finger is bound to win the day.” His head lolled to Natasha, who is evidently the brains of the operation. “So do we have a plan?”

Natasha shrugged. “I figured I’d poison all the guards, we’d go in, take it from there.”

“That’s an adequate place to start,” the man agreed. “Can you get me a sword while you’re at it? And how are you going to poison them all at the same time?”

Natasha grinned. Within ten minutes, she was walking among the guards dressed as a castle servant, giving them each a jug of ale. Once everyone had one, she lifted her own in a toast. “To the prince and princess!”

Though she drank as much as they did, she was the only one left standing.

“Nice,” the Man in Black commended.

She finished her jug. “Built up an immunity.”

Sam helped her rifle through the sleeping bodies and found the key to the gate. They froze as shouts rang out – someone had noticed the guards on the ground.

“I wouldn’t say our element of surprise is gone,” the Man in Black consoled them. “After all, I’ve been here all along, and even I’m surprised four people alone are trying this.”

“You’d rather the princess marry the man who’s trying to kill her?” Natasha snapped back.

“What?”

“We were hired to kill the princess by the count. He wouldn’t do that without the prince’s backing. The prince wants to kill her, frame Guilder, and go to war with Guilder.”

The gate swung open, and they were greeted by a small group of guards led by Count Pierce, who appraised them coldly.

“Kill the three standing,” he instructed the guards. “Leave the flaccid one for questioning.”

“Can we please at least call it floppy?” the Man in Black asked.

Natasha looked at him and shook her head. Men. “Sam. Have fun.”

Sam didn’t need to be told. He was already slicing through the guards with ease. Done with them in seconds, he pointed his sword at Count Pierce. “My name is Samuel Wilson. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

Count Pierce eased into a fighting stance that mirrored Sam’s, weighed his options as he studied Sam, and promptly ran.

Sam gave chase but didn’t make it far before he was cut off by a locked door. He yelled for the others.

“I’m going that way,” the Man in Black said, turning his head in a different direction. “Pretty sure.”

“You can’t go anywhere on your own,” Natasha reminded him. “Not yet.” She sighed. “Bucky, help Sam. I’ll help the Man in Black.”

* * *

The wedding was a hurried affair, especially after yells filled the courtyard outside when all the guards were drugged.

“That will be Steve,” Sharon said, pleased. “He didn’t even need a letter.”

“That won’t be him, I assure you. He was here the whole time,” Rumlow said. He smiled as he watched her face twist in confusion. “In our dungeon. I killed him last night. I bet you’ll think twice before you call me a coward again.”

Sharon’s chest hurt. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. “It isn’t true. You’re lying.”

“I’m not. We never took him to his ship. Only to the dungeons. Our worst dungeon. And we tortured him. And when you upset me, I killed him. You upset me so much I had no choice. You as good as killed him yourself.”

She gaped at him.

There were more shouts from outside.

Prince Rumlow leaned in toward the very important clergyman. “The most abridged version, if you please. So that my princess and I may sooner enjoy our married bliss.”

“Mawwage is wot brings us togetha-”

“More abridged,” Rumlow said.

“Do you have the wings?”

“More abridged,” he repeated.

The clergyman looked at him impatiently. “I now pronounce you man and wife?”

“Thank you,” Rumlow said, pulling Sharon out of the room. He shoved her toward some guards. “I’m going to see what the fuss is about. Take her to her room and keep her under guard until I come for her. There are rumors Guilder has hired mercenaries to kill her, and I won’t let my beloved die at a mercenary’s cowardly hand.”

* * *

Bucky opened the door easily enough, even kept up with Sam for the most part, but it was a losing battle. At length, he stopped, sighed, and threw up his hands. He simply didn’t have Sam’s motivation.

But he _was_ motivated to leave the castle alive. He turned his attention to that.

* * *

Sam ran through a doorway and got stabbed for the trouble. If he’d been thinking of anything more than revenge, he might have realized that was part of Pierce’s plan, that the count’s cowardice had been feigned to trick a superior opponent. But he wasn’t thinking of anything more than revenge. Even now with a stab to the gut.

“You killed my father,” Sam said. “Prepare to die.”

“You said that,” Count Pierce replied. Now that Sam was wounded, he was more prepared to face Sam in a fight.

Sam swatted Pierce’s sword away. “My name is Samuel Wilson. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

“Yes.” Pierce stabbed again; Sam countered and got in a hit of his own. “You said that.”

“My name is Samuel Wilson. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” Sam’s forward progress was relentless. “My name is Samuel Wilson. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

“Stop _saying_ that!” Pierce fell back. His cuts were bleeding; there was fear in his eye. Steve’s determined relentlessness had shaken him.

Sam drew to a slow, dangerous stop. “Offer me money.”

“Fine. Money. Yes. Rich beyond your wildest imaginings.”

“Power.”

“All that I have and more.”

“Anything I want.”

“Anything!”

“I want my father back.”

Count Pierce’s eyes widened. Some things were beyond him to give. And Sam, he realized, would not accept any sort of bargain to spare Pierce’s life.

Sam nodded in confirmation as if he could hear Pierce’s thoughts. A thrust, and Pierce fell to the ground, dead.

Sam stood there, panting, hoping his father’s soul was at peace and wondering what he would do now. It was like the Man in Black had said. He’d lived his life for this. Now what?

He could start, he figured, by finding Bucky and the others.

* * *

The guards didn’t throw Sharon into her room, but they shoved her inside with a speed and force that make it obvious they had other things to do.

Alone at last, Sharon crumpled to the floor with a sob.

“Unhappy in marriage already?”

Her intake of breath was so quick that she choked. Coughing, she pushed herself up to her feet to see Steve lying on her bed as if he belonged there. She gave a wordless cry and ran to him, pressing herself around him and inhaling his- well. He’d smelled better. But it didn’t matter. “Rumlow said he killed you!”

A voice came from the shadows nearby. “People lie, princess.”

Sharon froze. Slowly, she turned to face Natasha.

“She’s switched sides,” Steve explained. “She helped me save you.”

Natasha shrugged. “I don’t like seeing people emote. So just… pretend I’m not here. Or maybe skip this part?”

Sharon’s eyes watered. She was going to emote, and Natasha was going to have to suffer through it. “I didn’t marry him. But I’m not sure anyone will believe it. I never said ‘I do.’ I never signed anything. We aren’t married.”

“ _We_ aren’t,” Steve confirmed. “But that can change.” Before Sharon could kiss him, he groaned and shook his head. “I need to rinse my mouth out. You have no idea.”

“I do, actually. I don’t care.”

“I do.”

The door opened, and Prince Rumlow strode in, already adjusting his gloves to strangle Sharon. He froze when he saw Steve, Sharon, and Natasha. He looked confused, but the confusion quickly gave way to anger.

“I’d offer to come back later,” he said, “but let’s face it. Mercenaries from Guilder killing my wife and me killing them to avenge her _is_ a very good story. I can still go to war with Guilder afterward.”

Sharon, who hadn’t been informed of his plans to kill her, looked at him in surprise. “You really are _awful_ husband material.”

He affected a bow and looked at Steve as he drew his sword. “Well? Love of my love’s life? Let’s fight. To the death. Again.”

“No,” Steve said with angry fervor. “To the _pain._ ” At Rumlow’s evident lack of understanding, Steve continued. “I will let you live. Because I want you to live with what I’ll make you. I’ll take off your feet just beneath the ankles and leave you with the stubs. I’ll take your fingers one by one. Then your nose, leaving the gaping opening of your nasal passages.”

“And then my tongue next?”

“No,” Steve repeated. “Your left eye. Then your right. Plucked out with a sword but not detached until you can see them being plucked out.”

Impressed with the imagery, Natasha whistled.

“And then my _ears,_ ” Rumlow said, bravado poorly hiding his fear.

“ _NO._ I will leave your ears. How else could you hear children shrieking everywhere you go? How else could you appreciate babies and their parents alike whimpering and wailing at the sight of you? That, _that_ is what ‘to the pain’ means. It means I will allow you to live with the knowledge that you are hideous, too ugly to be pitied or loved.” He slowly got to his feet and extended his sword. “Now. To the pain. Or, if you like, you can drop your sword, and I’ll only tie you up and leave all your pieces attached.”

Prince Rumlow swallowed. He looked at Steve’s steady sword hand, remembered everything he knew of the man so far, and dropped his sword.

Natasha jumped forward with some of Sharon’s clothes. “Tie him up,” she told Sharon.

Sharon hurried to comply, only jumping away when Steve collapsed. “Steve!”

Rumlow stared at Steve in disbelief. “You were bluffing!”

“Of course I was bluffing. I’ve been mostly dead all day, thanks to you.”

Rumlow started fighting against his bonds, only to be hit by the pommel of Sam’s sword.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Sam greeted them. “Everyone together?”

“Almost,” Natasha informed him as Sharon helped Steve to his feet. “We’re missing-”

There was a piercing whistle from the courtyard below.

Sharon helped Steve over to Sam. “Take him.” With Steve safe with Sam, or she thought he was safe, at least, she hurried over to her books.

“We can get new ones,” Steve called after her.

She smiled at him and tucked the small book of poetry in her bodice. She also put on more jewelry than usual – she suspected the mercenaries would like a monetary form of gratitude. That done, she joined them at the window, where Natasha had already jumped out.

Steve went next, caught by Bucky down below and, until he could control his limbs better, tied carefully to one of the five white horses he’d found. Sharon went next, then Sam.

Riding out of the city with guards distantly in pursuit, Sam drew up alongside Steve. “You were right. I don’t know what to do next.”

“You’d make a wonderful Dread Pirate Roberts,” Steve offered. “I could arrange that.”

“What about you? What will you do?”

Steve grinned at Sharon. “We were thinking of the tropics. You can drop us off while you’re pirating.”

“And perhaps visit from time to time,” Sam suggested. “You can’t upset a prince’s plans for war and kill his most trusted adviser without forming something of a friendship.”

“True.” He grins. “Our relationship has truly come a distance.”

* * *

Dread Pirate Roberts’ ship made berth from a small tropical island where to most residents, Florin was only a word that might have one R or maybe two, and what did it matter to get it right? Dread Pirate Roberts became one of the most successful pirates of the age, if not all the ages, working as he did with a clever red-headed woman and a man whose brute strength was unsurpassed.

On this small tropical island were two friends of Dread Pirate Roberts who always greeted him and his crew with smiles. One was handsome, but nothing compared to his wife. They were both said to love poetry, and one could get a discount on a room in the couple’s bed and breakfast if the guest gifted them a book they hadn’t read before. The island soon had one of the largest and most renowned libraries in the area.

When Dread Pirate Roberts’ crew retired, they retired to that same small island. Somehow, none of the authorities in the areas could outsmart, outwit, or outfight the authorities on the island.

The residents on the island lived out their days happily and peacefully. There had never been a better happily ever after.

* * *

_Some readers may wonder if Steve and Sharon ever got that kiss. It is the chroniclers duty to inform you that they did, in fact, get that kiss and several more. As a matter of fact, on the list of top ten greatest kisses in history, Steve and Sharon held several spots. Even now, if you should go to the tropics and find that small island, there is a tradition to always have fresh water on hand to prevent delaying any kisses with your own true love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, you can help pick out the prompts for next year's [Sharon Carter Month prompts.](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1goHBjj2uGHsi5JVNTwyxcFecFHwsTkSPIbtbZKe7eQ0/edit)


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